


brighter

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bath Sex, Begging, Belly Kink, Biting, Bottom Will Graham, Breeding Kink, Cervix Bruising, Chastity Device, Creampie, Crying, Cutting, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Extremely Underage, First Time, Incest, Internal Conflict, Light Petting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Will Graham, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Parent/Child Incest, Past Relationship(s), Pheromones, Puberty, References to Knotting, Self-Harm, Self-Lubrication, Size Kink, Spanking, Top Hannibal Lecter, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-12-14 02:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21008579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: A sharpness comes to his teeth, a heat behind his eyes; outrage. He had never had to consider it before, but yes, when Will grows up, he'll leave to start a family of his own. Hannibal likes to think of all future possibilities, the consequences of every word and action, and it's an unsettling realization, to think Will wouldn't be there in any of them.





	1. Chapter 1

Hannibal pauses outside his son's bedroom door, taking a deep breath as a waft of sweetness comes to him from the little slip of air beneath. Utterly sweet, his mouth floods with saliva when he smells it, and he has no time to recover before the door opens, revealing Will, his little body almost dwarfed by the hastily-grabbed and haphazardly-held bundle of his sheets, duvet cover, and bedclothes clutched tightly to his chest.

Will freezes when Hannibal meets his gaze. He's wide-eyed and soaked with sweat, curling his dark hair and making it cling to his face, his body bare aside from his underwear which is stuck to his thighs and hips like it's painted upon him. Another powerful wave of that scent washes over Hannibal, so much that his knees weaken, threatening to buckle, every piece of him compelled to press his nose to Will and drink that scent from the source.

He recovers, barely, and rasps; "What are you doing, Will?"

Will's cheeks are flushed darkly, his scent turning bittersweet, sugar on lemons and cherry tart. "I…" He worries his lower lip between his teeth, caught in Hannibal's gaze. Hannibal raised his son to be honest, and confident, and while he sees none of the latter in Will now, he knows he can rely on Will's upbringing to provide the former. "I'm sorry, daddy. I made a mess," he says.

Hannibal nods. Will is well past the age of wetting his bed, but accidents can happen. Still, he cannot deny that scent is decidedly _not _that of urine, and he takes a careful, slow breath in again. Will's flush darkens, nerves and embarrassment caking him like a glaze, and Hannibal says, "What kind of mess?"

Will swallows loudly, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. "I don't know," he says, and Hannibal frowns, because Will is lying to him. It might be the first time he ever has. "I was just…dreaming…" He hesitates, swallowing again, so red he more closely resembles a gala apple than his normal pale complexion. "And when I woke up I was covered in…this."

Hannibal smiles, and crouches down so they're at eye level. He ignores the steady and insistent thrum of heat in his stomach, takes Will's ruined bedclothes from him, and presses his nose to it, taking a large, somewhat greedy, inhale.

"Oh," he says, pretending to only just now understand. He smiles, his mouth full of saliva, and looks at Will's flushed face. "It's perfectly natural, Will – your body is starting to change, and go through puberty. Preparing you for sexual maturity."

Will stares at him.

"Everyone goes through this," Hannibal adds kindly. He doesn't give Will his soiled sheets back, but reaches out to gently tuck one of Will's sweaty curls behind his face. "I'll schedule an appointment with your pediatrician immediately, so you can begin your transition."

To his surprise, Will visibly flinches at the suggestion, his back hitting the doorjamb and his shoulders curling in. He pets over his wrists, and his smooth belly, staring down at his own feet. Hannibal's head tilts. "Will," he says, a little more firmly; "It's a necessary procedure. A small discomfort that you will be thankful for when you present."

Will's eyes, his mouth, his shoulders tighten. "Did you ever help 'transition' people?" he asks.

"A few times, during my residency, yes," Hannibal replies.

Will looks at him. "Then…can you do it?" he murmurs, and he sounds so young, so utterly fragile. Combined with the lingering eddies of his scent, it's getting difficult for Hannibal to concentrate on anything else. "I don't want someone I don't know touching me."

Hannibal smiles, and releases Will's clothes, letting them drop to the floor. He takes his son by the wrists, bringing him forward until Hannibal can cup his face, his hands splaying out large and wide over Will's flushed cheeks.

"Of course, sweet boy," he purrs, and Will shivers again, biting his lower lip. Hannibal kisses his forehead, and pushes himself to his feet. "Go shower and clean yourself up, and I will put these in the laundry. We can begin after breakfast."

Will nods. "Okay, daddy," he replies, still sounding so very nervous, but less so after Hannibal has agreed to be the one to assist him in his transition. Will trusts and loves him very much, he always has, and something in Hannibal inwardly purrs and stretches at the thought of being the one to help his boy become a man.

He kisses Will's sweaty hair, and gathers his soiled bedclothes. "I'll see you in a moment."

Will's mother left this world when Will was three years old. Not so young that he was in need of absolutely constant care, and not so old that his love map was too firmly established towards that of his mother. Hannibal made sure of this, by design, so that Will would love him unconditionally, trust and favor him above all others, and be the perfect child to Hannibal as he grew up. He served her meat to Will on his fourth birthday.

Will's mother had been a lovely omega, well-bred and well-groomed, had gone to a finishing school and knew as much about social niceties and politeness as Hannibal did. She was a woman uniquely bred to serve his interests, and had done a capable job of gifting him his first and only child. She had wanted more, most omegas do, but Hannibal had only been interested in handling one at the time. He never regrets anything, and still now does not regret his decision to only have Will.

Will is a perfect child. He is the kind of child that only needs a firm hand and a stern warning to correct and perfect his behavior. Hannibal has never needed to be cruel to him, has never needed to punish him beyond a swift word or, when he was much younger, the occasional time out.

It has been a while since he performed a transition service for a youth, and he lacks the proper equipment that a facility would have, but he's nothing if not adaptable. He fashions a bench out of two of the dining room chairs, and binds them loosely together by their legs so that they form one broad place on which to sit or lie down. He sets the chairs at the far end of the table, away from where they eat.

He will do it here. It is the place he feeds and nurtures his child, where Will does homework and where they have both spent most evenings talking to each other. Hannibal can be considered a doting parent, content to listen to his son babble for hours about anything that has struck his fancy for the day, guide him subtly towards broadening his knowledge and plucking at whatever interests him. If he has his way, Will's curiosity will be insatiable, his mind sharp, and he will grow into a capable and learned young man under his care.

Will comes downstairs, fresh and sweet from his shower, and halts at the doorway, flushing immediately when he sees Hannibal finishing with the chairs. He has placed a thick fleece blanket across them, and bound the backs to the table legs so that Will can writhe and move all he likes without fear of dislodging himself.

Hannibal smiles at him, and holds out a hand, pleased when Will comes to him, trusting as ever. Will's eyes are wide and he shivers visibly when Hannibal pets through his wet hair.

"Come, darling," he purrs, kissing Will's forehead. He allows himself to linger, breathing in deep, another pulse of heat settling low in his spine at how deliciously sweet Will's scent has become. He will make a fine mate one day. "Help me make breakfast."

Will nods, and follows him into the kitchen. Most of the time their breakfasts are simple things, as Hannibal is teaching Will how to cook now that he's big enough to reach most of the cupboards when he stretches to his toes. Will inherited his mother's dainty stature, and even now at eleven is still a slim and coltish thing that barely crests Hannibal's sternum, but he has recently grown a small layer of puppy fat, hinting at a pending growth spurt.

Hannibal guides him through scrambling their eggs, adding butter and milk and cilantro as they go, while he fries bacon on the burner beside, coffee brewing. Will fetches himself a glass of juice and they carry their plates back into the dining room, settling and beginning to eat. Will waits for Hannibal to take a bite first, as he was taught, before he digs in. Hannibal doesn't miss how he continues to glance furtively at the setup on the other end of the table, his cheeks so dark and rosy-red.

Hannibal smiles, feeling merciful; "Do you have any questions?"

Will's eyes snap to him, wide and bright, and then away. "Yes," he murmurs, and clears his throat. "Lots."

"Ask them, then."

"What…exactly is a transitioning like?" Will says. "We're only just starting to go over it in school, I don't know anyone in my class who's done it."

Hannibal nods to himself, sipping idly at his coffee. "At the beginning of puberty, your body will begin to change," Hannibal says, and Will nods, absently. Hannibal knows he has at least learned about that. "The changes will continue until you are sixteen, when you will fully present as alpha, beta, or omega." Will nods again. "The transition process is designed to help your body align itself to whatever nature fits best. It's an important process, Will – if you go without it, your first heat or rut will be very painful. In extreme cases, you could become very sick, or not survive it at all."

Will winces, and swallows loudly. He looks so small and frightened, his demeanor like that of a recently caged bird. Fluttering and frantic. Hannibal can smell his nervousness, souring the sweetness his body has only just started to produce.

"How does it work?" Will asks.

Hannibal smiles. "When you're ready, you will strip down and kneel on the chairs, and I will perform an examination on you. The main areas of focus will be the back of your neck, where your scent and bonding glands are, as well as other sensitive points; your tailbone, your nipples, and your genitals. The goal is to see how you react to these places being touched – your reactions will be instinctual, and trigger the first steps to your final presentation."

Will's cheeks are very red. And, to Hannibal's surprise and utter delight, he meets Hannibal's eyes and says, "I'm glad you'll be the one doing it, then. I don't want someone else touching me like that."

Hannibal smiles, and grazes Will's cheek fondly with his knuckles. "No one will lay a hand on you without your permission," he promises. Will smiles sweetly, turning his head to nuzzle Hannibal's palm, and he swallows, pushing his cleaned place away. Hannibal stands, gathering their dishes. "Undress and kneel on the chairs, and put your elbows on the table. I'll return shortly."

Will nods, and Hannibal leaves him, taking his time in clearing everything away and washing the dishes, then his hands, as thoroughly as he would before and after any surgery. He returns to find Will, obedient to a fault, presenting just as Hannibal commanded.

A sudden surge of heat hits him hard in the chest, and he swallows so that he doesn't snarl. It is not so common as to be considered normal for an alpha parent to react in such a way to their newly-presenting child, especially before a transition, and the force of it surprises him. It seems as though his body has been in stasis for years, and has only just been made aware that he has gone without a proper, consistent bedmate since Will's mother died.

He breathes out heavily, as Will lifts his head, wide-eyed and trusting. He's cold, or perhaps just nervous, shivering finely like any new filly in the starting gate of her first race. Hannibal smiles, forces himself to remain calm and keep his scent and demeanor soothing, and approaches his son.

He leans down, and tucks his hand beneath Will's hair at his nape, lifting his head until Will's nose touches his own neck. "Breathe in," he commands gently, and Will obeys, his tremors easing and his body going lax as Hannibal's scent soothes him. As an alpha, a figure of safety and power, and Will's father, he is uniquely suited to quiet the boy, until he finds a mate.

He releases Will, gently guiding his forehead to rest upon the table. "If anything feels uncomfortable, tell me immediately," Hannibal says, and Will nods, slow and silent. He is positioned almost as though at prayer, his fingers laced, hands pressed tight, shoulders risen up as his head falls between them. His back slopes down at a gentle angle, to his skinny hips, his slim and wide-spread thighs, positioned so that each knee is in the center of a single chair.

Hannibal steps between his feet, smiling when Will's toes instinctively curl, his feet rolling so that the arches of them cup and drag gracelessly at the outside of Hannibal's legs. He takes another slow, centering breath, and places his hands gentle and wide on Will's soft flanks.

Will does not stiffen, because he has no reason to – his trust and love for his father overrides any natural instinctive fear. Rather, he melts into it, like he used to when he was very young and would fall asleep to Hannibal reading him poems in Italian. Hannibal does find it settling, to be reminded of that, when Will was so innocent and so young. Unblemished, beautiful, though he has only grown more lovely, and Hannibal is sure, by the time he's sixteen, he will be a beauty unmatched.

"What were you dreaming about, Will?" he murmurs, sliding his hands up either side of Will's spine, finding an occasional light knot of resistant muscle. He takes his time petting up Will's back, until Will is breathing slow and even.

Then, Hannibal tilts his hand, presses his first two fingers gently on either side of Will's neck, and arcs them up in a slow sweep, mapping the curve of his skull, the give behind his jaw, the softness beneath it. Will shivers, back arching up, his shoulders dropping to give Hannibal more room.

"I…" Will swallows, and lets out a nervous little whimper. "I don't know if I should say."

Hannibal's head tilts. "Knowing what triggered the beginnings of your transition will help me," he replies, forcing his voice to remain soothing and quiet. He pets over Will's nape again, gives it a testing squeeze, smiling when Will shudders, and his hips arch as though trying to present. "Your subconscious is what is driving your body to react, one way or another. It's important to know which way it's already leaning, so that I don't inadvertently upset your course."

He cups the sides of Will's pale neck, pleased to see that it is beginning to flush, a pink stain spreading down his back. Will digs his knees into the chairs and grips Hannibal's legs tightly with his ankles.

"I dreamed I'd gotten married," he says. Hannibal hums, keeps his touches gentle and wide as he slowly pets down Will's back. "Just the ceremony, but every part of me ached, like I'd been punched."

Hannibal nods to himself. "Was it a psychical ache?" he asks. "An emptiness?" For if that's the case, it will hint at Will presenting omega when he reaches full maturity.

"Kind of," Will replies. "I felt sad."

Hannibal frowns, for that was not the kind of emptiness he was thinking of. "Sad?" he repeats. "Why?"

"Marrying someone means I leave you," Will says, and he sounds so young and sweet. He turns his head, unable to quite meet Hannibal's eyes, but Hannibal can tell he's settled just by the glimpse of his edges. "You'll be all alone."

Hannibal's hands go still, and he breathes in as steadily and slowly as he can manage. A sharpness comes to his teeth, a heat behind his eyes; outrage. He had never had to consider it before, but yes, when Will grows up, he'll leave to start a family of his own. Hannibal likes to think of all future possibilities, the consequences of every word and action, and it's an unsettling realization, to think Will wouldn't be there in any of them.

"You don't have to mate until you're ready," he murmurs.

He swallows, and gently coaxes a hand into Will's hair, finds his neck limp and yielding, letting Hannibal tilt him any which way. Hannibal leans over him, testing how Will reacts to weight, and finds Will eagerly arching up against him, breathing hard, his scent turning sweet once again.

Hannibal kisses his hair, and releases him, tapping his shoulder. "Turn around, darling," he says, and Will obeys sluggishly, lifting up and turning until he's perched on the chair. Hannibal coaxes him to settle on his heels, using the table as a brace, and pushes his knees apart. "I'm going to test those other parts we talked about. If you feel any discomfort, let me know immediately."

Will nods, his eyes wide, clear and trusting. Hannibal smiles at him, and steps right up to the edges of the chairs, Will's knees instinctively clinging to his thighs as Hannibal steadies himself. Hannibal touches his forehead, slides a hand to his hair again, coaxes his head back to bare his throat. Will goes with another soft whimper, relaxing and bowed back over the table. All of this, classic omega reactions; submission and pliancy. It's thrilling to watch.

Hannibal touches his neck, first, feels his heart fluttering, pulse fast. Will's reaction is to gasp, biting his lower lip hard, his hands clutching tightly at the edge of the table. Hannibal curls his fingers, tests the bite of his nails, watching his son raptly as Will's body arches, hips flexing in a subtle little roll. His free hand ghosts along Will's left nipple, already hardened to a little nub. He rubs his thumb around it, and then over, and Will whines, his smooth stomach tensing, his small cock twitching between his legs.

Hannibal is sure, at this point, that his darling boy will present omega. There is too much evidence, a huge lack of alpha-coded response, for him to think otherwise. He needn't continue. He doesn't want to stop.

He flattens his fingers over Will's budding scent and bonding glands again, feels the edges of them below his ear and sweeps his thumb across them, and Will gasps again, lashes fluttering, lips parting, red and wet from his tongue. His knuckles are white, his knees gripping Hannibal tightly, trying to pull him closer.

Hannibal's nostrils flare, as he smells something else. A thick, rich thing, the ripe glaze of maple and honey on top of his boy's natural sweet scent. Will's slick. Definitely an omega.

He leans down and Will opens his eyes, looks at him as their foreheads touch. He's breathing hard, trembling and pinned, but not at all tense. He trusts, because he has no reason not to. Hannibal releases his neck and drags both hands down Will's heaving flanks, grips his skinny waist, and Will whimpers, clutching at Hannibal's hair as Hannibal slides a single finger between his legs, confirming with touch what he already knew by scent.

Will's rim is wet, relaxed, a _very _slight drag of Hannibal's finger is enough to coax it into opening, the muscles pliant and eager to accept something inside him. Will is panting, whines loudly, and Hannibal smiles as his body gives a helpless jerk, his little cock fully erect and leaking onto his stomach.

"Daddy…" he murmurs, and Hannibal closes his eyes, tries to hold onto the rapidly crumbling remnants of his self-control. He forces himself to withdraw his finger, instead testing the softness of Will's skin between his legs, his tender and underdeveloped testicles, his hard little cock. It's barely larger than two of Hannibal's fingers – another sign of an omega designation, as they typically run smaller. Will stiffens, lets out a rough, high sound as Hannibal strokes up it, to his soaked head and slit beaded with clear precum.

"How does that feel?" Hannibal rasps.

"Good," Will breathes, going lax again, hips twitching in juddering little thrusts, seeking more pressure. Hannibal gives it, curling his fingers around Will's cock and stroking, just once, before he remembers himself, and releases his son. He tries to step back, but Will's eyes fly open wide, and he clings to Hannibal's shoulders with desperate hands. "Daddy, don't stop. I like it."

Hannibal sighs, and kisses Will's forehead, breathing in deeply. His hair is curling from new sweat, his skin fever-warm, so utterly sweet. Lord, he'd make a delicious meal. Any alpha would be lucky to have him.

He flattens his hands on Will's slim thighs, strokes down to his knees, back up just to feel how his muscles tremble, try to go lax, try to spread wide in invitation.

"I believe you'll present omega, Will," he says, for there's no doubt in his mind now that this is true. It pains him to admit what Will already said; one day, Will might find an alpha good enough for him, and earn Hannibal's blessing, and leave his house forever, to breed and submit to another alpha. It's an outrageous thought, and fills him with fire, but it's true. He sighs, and kisses Will's hair again. "I will order your chastity immediately. You must preserve your virginity for your future mate."

"Please, no," Will whimpers, and Hannibal growls, a powerful shiver running through him as Will pets down his chest. He freezes when he feels Will's hands graze his own trapped erection, trying to pull it free, and he moves away from Will so suddenly that the boy almost falls to the floor. "Daddy, _please_."

"Will -."

"I don't want another alpha touching me," Will cries, his eyes bright now, tears unshed. He collapses onto the chairs and reaches for Hannibal again, whining when Hannibal snarls at him. "I don't want to leave you. I want to be yours."

Hannibal breathes in, rubbing his hand over his face. It's the same hand that touched Will, fingertip coated with his slick, and the scent of him floods his mouth, burns the backs of his eyelids. He snarls to himself, clenches his other hand, and with what feels like all his might, resists the urge to lick his finger clean.

He hears movement, and sees Will pushing himself off the chairs, falling to his knees on the floor. He looks so pitiful like that, so weak and small and trembling. Everything in Hannibal that makes him an alpha and makes him Will's father aches to soothe him, but by the very nature of this situation, he cannot.

"Don't you want children, Will?" he demands, his voice coming out hard and clipped. "Don't you want to fall in love, and be with someone who can give you a family?"

"You're my family," Will replies. "I love you." He swallows, and then he stands, his upper lip twitching back in a snarl. It holds no real threat, of course, but even that he would makes Hannibal blink in surprise. "You're _mine_."

Hannibal smiles; he can't help it. "Am I?"

"_Yes_," Will hisses, his eyes bright with tears, his fists clenched tightly by his sides. He glares at Hannibal openly. "You're mine, and I'm yours, and I don't want anyone else."

Hannibal sighs. "You're too young to know what you want," he replies.

"No I'm not," Will snaps. "And even if I am, I love you. I've always loved you. I -. I think about you all the time, and dream about you, and -."

Hannibal's gaze flashes to him. "What?"

Will's lips twitch in a sheepish smile. "That's not the first wet dream I've had, daddy," he murmurs, looking down. "Just the first time you caught me trying to hide the evidence."

Hannibal stares, for a moment too shocked to answer. Will has been dreaming about him. Will flushes under his gaze, unmoving except for the occasional tremor. Finally, Will swallows, and meets his eyes.

"I know I can't replace mom," he says softly, sadly. "And I don't want to try. But I love you, and I don't ever want to be apart from you. And…" He gestures to himself. "You can't deny we're compatible. I'm transitioning for you, after all."

Hannibal's mouth goes dry. Yes, that is true – he cannot imagine Will would have been so reactive for his pediatrician, or another stranger. He wonders if, when Will asked Hannibal to do this for him, he was hoping for an outcome like this.

He swallows harshly, and knows it comes out cold and harsh when he says; "Go to your room. You have behaved terribly, Will, and I don't want to see you for the rest of the day."

Will flinches, sucking in a shuddering breath. He closes his eyes, the tears finally falling, and nods, once, shoulders curling in. Small as he is, he shrinks to half that size, and wraps his arms around his chest as though trying to hide.

"Okay," he says, defeated and sad. "I'm sorry."

Hannibal sighs. That terrible ache, still, is beating against the back of his chest. He has never found pleasure in Will's tears, his distress. He wants to soothe his son. He wants to be a good father; a reasonable man, as he always has been. And another part of him wants to take Will by the throat and lay him out on the table, damn the consequences, because no one will take his boy away from him, ever, _ever_….

He turns away, and leaves the dining room, going to his study. He hears Will gather his clothes and pad up the stairs. Hears his bedroom door close as the washing machines beeps that it's finished, and sighs, thinking of Will curled up and wretched on his barren bed, sobbing and still tender from stimulation.

He rubs a hand over his face, and sighs. It would be unwise to introduce alcohol at a time like this, but he aches for it, and pours himself a heavy-handed glass of the highest proof brandy he owns. He drinks it until he can't taste Will on his tongue anymore. Pours another, and drinks until he can't smell Will on his hands anymore. Until his body no longer feels half-rabid with chaotic and desperate desire.

Drinks, until Will's cries go silent, and he closes his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Hannibal can count on one hand the amount of times he's drunken himself into a stupor, and most of those times ring hollow with older, deeper scars, the foolishness of his own youth and the time when consequence seemed not something to be anticipated and planned for, but ignored in its entirety. He is fortunate, back then, that he did not become a father too soon, or get sick, or get into an altercation he would not have recovered from.

He doesn't remember allowing himself to fall asleep, but asleep he must have been, for when he rouses himself the clock above the fireplace tells him it is almost dinner time, and though he had no appointments today and therefore no patients to worry about missing, to call or apologize to, he does have a missed call and voicemail from one of the organizers of Will's extracurricular activities, as well as a text informing him of Will's absence.

He closes his eyes, running a hand through his hair, and rises to gather some water and painkillers for his headache. He should have called the organizer, but he hadn't anticipated…well, any of it. Certainly not that Will would begin his transition, nor any of the unfortunate events that followed. He should have kept a better hold of himself – it's ridiculous to think that just the fresh burst of sweet slick was enough to make him lose his better judgement. Even an omega as beloved and treasured by him as Will. Hannibal is no longer the reckless, nihilistic man he was in his youth, and should not behave like one.

If nothing else, he should be leading by example. Being a slave to your instincts makes for some memorable nights, but it is impossible to maintain in the real world, especially considering his own extracurricular amusements.

He downs two pills with a glass of cold water, finishes it slowly, mindful of his stomach, and fills it again. He sighs, and looks to the ceiling. He doesn't think Will would have disobeyed him and snuck out, so he is likely still in his room. His heart aches at the thought of Will being so bereft and ignored all day – his poor, darling boy. It's not his fault he thinks he's bonded to Hannibal, that he loves his father like he might a mate; it's not like Hannibal gave him much of a choice. As social as he's tried to encourage Will to be, his son is an introverted soul and always seemed to prefer their talks over visiting his friends. And Hannibal, foolish and indulgent and excited by the idea of having a fresh, young mind to mold, had done nothing to dissuade him.

He should try to make it up to Will, and explain to him why, despite what Will might think, they are not compatible. There are reasons both legal and emotional to consider, and Hannibal will be able to remain reasonable in a situation that is not so tense, lacking such thorough temptation.

He nods to himself, decided, and only pauses to change Will's sheets over to the drier so that Will has them to sleep in tonight, and goes up to his room. It's dark beneath the door, but Hannibal can smell and hear Will inside.

He knocks, but does not open it. "I'm going to the store, darling," he murmurs, and hears a quiet, sleepy-sounding rumble in answer. "Would you like anything specific for dinner?"

"No," Will replies, sounding sullen. Hannibal sighs. He supposes he cannot fault his son for feeling a little put out.

"I'll be back in an hour," he promises. "I'll make us something special, and we can talk. How does that sound?" In the wake of Will's silence, he adds; "If you're feeling up to it, you can come down and help me cook as well. Whatever you decide."

Will is quiet for another moment, and then Hannibal steps back as the door opens. Will has clearly been crying, his eyes red-rimmed and his face splotchy and pink. He's redressed in new clothes; pajamas and a t-shirt that sits a little loose around his neck from many years of use.

He shifts his weight, rubs his hands over his arms, and looks up, meeting Hannibal's eyes. "I'm sorry," he says again, and Hannibal swallows. "Are you still mad at me?"

He looks so sad, so small and scared. Hannibal's heart might be breaking at the sight of his son so obviously distressed. Then, Will's breath hitches, obviously trying not to cry again, and it shatters entirely.

He drops to his knees and pulls Will into a tight hug, nuzzling his hair as Will clings to him. "No, Will, I'm not mad," he says. "I was never angry with you, darling, I swear."

Will trembles, burying a hiccupping little whine against Hannibal's neck. Hannibal sighs, closing his eyes and breathing Will in, aching terribly at the scent of Will so upset. He kisses Will's hair, and stands, cupping his face as Will blinks up at him with wide eyes.

Hannibal smiles at him. "Would you like to come with me to the store?"

Will swallows, and shakes his head. "I'd rather stay in, if that's okay," he murmurs. Hannibal nods, and lets him go, and Will wraps his arms around his chest again, kneading restlessly at his own biceps. "I'll see you when you get home?"

"Of course, darling," Hannibal replies. "And if you'd like to come help me with dinner, that would be lovely, but you don't have to." Will nods again. "I'll see you soon."

"Okay," Will whispers, and swallows again. He turns and slinks back into his room, shutting the door behind him, and Hannibal sighs, rubbing his hand over his mouth, and goes back downstairs, leaving his home quickly. He will make Will's favorite meal, and talk to him about this – Will is a reasonable boy, Hannibal raised him to be logical and rational. And he will be in a much better mindset to talk about what happened that morning, once the subject is broached.

Will does not come down to greet him or help him with groceries when Hannibal returns, and while he can't say he's surprised, he's somewhat disappointed. Mostly, he admits, because he wants to make Will feel better, and he can't do that if Will is avoiding him. He can only hope that his son's empty belly pulls him downstairs and they can talk.

With that in mind, he sets everything down on the kitchen counters, unpacking and gathering supplies as he goes. Will, like most children his age, has a stomach that more closely resembles a hollow leg, and can easily put away twice as much food as Hannibal in a single sitting. He wants to make something he knows Will likes, that will make him feel cared for and loved, even if it's not in the way his hormone-addled body claims to want.

There's a dish Will's mother used to make, when she was alive. It is a home-recipe spin on macaroni and cheese, and Hannibal doesn't know if Will has memories that young, to recognize it, but he's liked it every time Hannibal has made it for him. It's good comfort food. He uses rotelle pasta, and gruyere, asiago, and Fontina cheese as well as the classic sharp cheddar. He sets it all into a bowl as the noodles boil, and melts butter, mixes it with milk, cayenne, and mustard powder, nutmeg and minced onions.

Once that mixture has simmered to his liking, he adds the cheeses, smiling as the scent of the food begins to flood the kitchen. Cooking is an easy, meditative task for him, something he can lose himself to and ignore everything else.

The noodles are ready, and he drains them and lays them out in a baking dish, pouring the cheese over the top. He adds a layer of shredded turkey – dark meat, mostly, since he knows Will prefers it – and then covers that with more of the cheese mixture. He dusts the top lightly with breadcrumbs, and places it in the oven to bake.

He sets a timer, and then goes to his study, clearing away his brandy glass from the morning. He washes the mixing bowl, spatula, and pot he boiled the noodles in, and then, with a sigh, he returns to the dining room. The setup he made for Will is still there, and he quickly unties the knots, separating the chairs and placing them back in their correct spots.

The drier buzzes that it's finished drying Will's bedsheets, and he goes to the laundry room, crouching down so he can take out Will's blankets and sheets. They, mercifully, no longer smell like him, just like clean bedding, and he folds everything into a basket and leaves it for later.

When he returns to the kitchen, Will is there, pouring himself a glass of apple juice. Will freezes when their eyes meet, almost spilling the bottle before he corrects himself, flushing and nervous. He puts the bottle back in the fridge without a word and merely stands there, both hands wrapped around his glass.

Hannibal sighs. "Will," he murmurs, approaching him, "I would like to discuss what happened this morning, so that we can move past it."

Will presses his lips together, his knuckles going white. "What's there to discuss?" he replies sharply. "I told you I love you and you sent me to my room."

"I'm your father, Will," Hannibal reminds him. Will flinches visibly, and swallows hard enough his throat clicks. "I can't give you the things you'll want later in life – a family. Children. You would never be able to have a normal life, and I want you to at least have the chance."

"So how long would it take?" Will demands, and meets his eyes. "Until I go into heat? Until I can drink? Until I'm thirty and you're twice my age? Would you believe me then, that I don't want anyone else?"

Hannibal closes his eyes, breathes in deeply, forcing himself to remain calm and unaffected. He would have rather begun this conversation when they were eating, if only to give them both something to do during the awkward silences, but Will is an impatient child at times, and Hannibal can only blame his own influence that he is not one to let a subject go.

"Will," he begins. "What you're feeling for me is -."

"Don't." Will's eyes are bright with tears, and he shows his teeth, sucking in an unsteady breath. "Don't call it 'unnatural', or 'wrong', or even say it's just because I'm young and hormonal." Hannibal sighs through his nose. "Is it because I'm a boy? Do you not like boys?"

"Your gender has nothing to do with this," Hannibal says crisply.

"I know what I saw," Will snaps. "What I felt." His eyes drop to Hannibal's chest, then lower, and he shows his teeth again. "You want me."

Hannibal wants to deny it. He wishes he could. He wishes he could say it was just a result of smelling a young omega reacting like a fertile one, responsive and willing, that called to his instincts as an alpha to take. But he knows Will won't accept that as an answer, because Hannibal has been around plenty of omegas before – even brought a few here, in a performative courting display. He never bedded them, because they all turned out to be rather uninteresting and it would be cruel to promise them something he was unable to give.

Will makes another weak sound again, and takes another drink. "If it's because I'm still too young, I can accept that," he says quietly. "I know it's illegal, that you could get in trouble if anyone found out."

Yes, that is true, but Hannibal does illegal things all the time. One day, he had hoped Will would join him on his hunts. It would be another survival skill, another thing he could teach his beloved boy, to make sure he was the strongest and most capable man in the world. It's all Hannibal wants for him – to be happy, and safe, and free to do as he likes.

It occurs to him that, if Will did mate to some other alpha, he would be robbed of that chance. Statistically, he would end up barefoot and pregnant for the rest of his life, collared and caged under the whim of whatever alpha purchased his hand. If Hannibal found a suitable one, he might be able to achieve some peace; freedom to work, or continue his schooling, before he became a mother. But even then, he would not be truly free, not like he could be with Hannibal.

It's a dangerous road to go down, and Hannibal forces himself to halt in his tracks.

"But we could hide it," Will continues, when he says nothing, "just like we hide everything else."

Hannibal frowns, and tilts his head.

Will smiles at him. "I've seen the basement, daddy," he murmurs. Hannibal's eyes widen, he blinks in shock. "I've seen you coming home, sometimes, with a fresh kill."

Hannibal is frozen, momentarily mute with shock. He swallows. "How long have you known?" he demands, his voice raspy.

Will shrugs, slim shoulders rising and falling and making his shirt sag around his collarbones. "As long as I can remember," he replies. "I assume that's why mom died. She found out."

She didn't, she never knew, but Hannibal will not do her memory the disservice of saying she was not as clever as her son.

"But I've known for ages," Will finishes, and meets his eyes. "When I'd go to the library, I'd look on news sites to see what you'd done. It's…" He shivers, and wets his lips. "It's beautiful. I want to learn how you do it. I want to come with you when I'm big enough."

Hannibal stares at him, and not for the first time, wonders when he started underestimating his son. Wonders how far Will would have gone, how long he would have waited, if he would have said anything at all if not for what happened this morning.

He is saved from answering by the oven timer going off, and recovers himself somewhat, circling the island and opening the oven to a cloud of steam. He slides on oven mitts and takes the dish out, and doesn't miss how Will's eyes flash, his smile grows wide and happy, when he sees what Hannibal has made.

"Smells good, daddy," he murmurs, and Hannibal smiles at him.

"Go set the table," he says, and Will nods, abandoning his glass of juice to fetch plates and silverware for them. Hannibal watches him move, noting that Will walks with a slight unsteadiness, and there's a dampness clinging between his thighs that hints at drying slick. He can't resist the urge to breathe in, and his mouth floods with saliva as he scents, beneath the food, Will's sweetness.

He has often thought, in that classic paternal way, that no one would ever be good enough for his son. Now he cannot deny it. Will is uniquely gifted, clever, and keen-sighted. He is brilliant and purposeful and manipulative, and Hannibal knows Will would not settle for just any alpha. He would not tolerate a life of breeding and finishing schools and refinement like his mother.

He sighs to himself. No, Will cannot be courted by just any alpha. But he is still so young – he might think he knows what he wants now, but so many things can change. No person is the same as they were at eleven, or sixteen, or twenty-one.

Despite having slept most of the day away, Hannibal feels so tired. He collects the dish and brings it to the table, laying it on a heat protector Will set out, and returns to top up and bring Will's juice, as well as a glass of water for himself.

They sit, and Will waits for Hannibal to serve out of the food, and then waits for Hannibal to begin eating it. He's regretting his choice of such a high-fat meal right now, his stomach too knotted and his mind racing, but he forces himself to take a bite so that Will feels allowed to eat.

Will does, digging in ravenously. He no longer seems as nervous, as he had in the kitchen before their talk, or even that morning over breakfast. His eyes never stray to the end of the table, he seems content to simply ignore the whole thing.

But the room is, still, thick with Will's slick-scent, and it's terribly distracting.

"Will," he says, when Will's plate is almost clean and Hannibal's food barely touched. Will pauses, and looks at him. "Have you told anyone about the things you've shared with me?"

Will blinks, and flushes. "No," he replies. "I can't exactly tell people I'm in love with my father, or that he's a murderer." He shakes his head. "I haven't told anyone."

"I appreciate your honesty," Hannibal says, steadfastly ignoring the way his stomach tenses as Will, once again, insists that he loves him. "And I admire your cleverness. You make me very proud."

Will's smile widens, his cheeks turning an even darker pink.

"But knowing what I know now, I cannot ignore the evidence that further confirms the only reason you feel such a strong attachment to me is because you knew. And because you and I have always been close." It pains him to say it, even worse for the way Will's eyes are growing dark, his shoulders falling, braced for a blow. "If your mother were still alive, or you had siblings, maybe you wouldn't have grown so attached to me. Regardless, the only recourse now is to correct past wrongs as much as possible."

Will is staring at him, horrified.

Hannibal closes his eyes, and breathes in. "Perhaps, since we now know you are most likely to present omega, you should go to an omega-oriented boarding school, where they can give you specialized care."

"_What_?" Will demands, shrieking the word. He stands up, his chair screeching back along the wood, and Hannibal meets his glare openly. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Hannibal frowns. "Language."

"I don't fucking _care _about _language_!" Will hisses. His eyes are utterly black, narrowed, his lips pulled back to show all his teeth to Hannibal in an aggressive display. He's too small to be a threat, of course, and the action is not unexpected, but Hannibal has to stop himself snarling in answer, out of the desire to cow his son into submission. "How _dare _you. You can't just send me away – I won't go!"

"You will do as I tell you," Hannibal says sternly. "The schools are quite nice, as I've heard. You can learn how to be a good match for someone -."

"I'm _already _a good fucking match for someone," Will snarls. His voice has grown shaky, rough with unshed tears. They well up and spill down his face and it hurts to witness, Hannibal hates seeing Will in such pain, especially knowing he was the cause of it. "I won't go. I _won't_."

"Will." The sharpness of his voice cuts Will off, and Hannibal pushes himself to his feet, and grabs Will by the throat, squeezing just enough that he instinctively goes lax, with a weak little whimper, pawing at Hannibal's wrist. "This behavior is only proving to me that I'm right."

He pushes Will back, and Will goes stumbling, catching himself on his chair and almost falling over it. He sucks in a breath, rubbing his bruised neck, and looks up at Hannibal with watery eyes.

"Daddy, please," he whispers. "Please don't send me away."

Hannibal shakes his head.

"Please!" Will lunges for him, grabs at his shirt desperately and burrows against Hannibal's stomach. "Please, I'll be good, I'll do whatever you want. I'll shut up about this whole thing and never mention it again. But I want to stay."

Hannibal growls, his patience running out – with himself, with his own weakness, for he wants to fall to his knees and embrace his son, wants to soothe him and pet him and tell him nothing will ever separate them, but he can't.

He takes Will's hands and forcibly removes him, pushing Will back again. "You will go," he says, resolute, determined. "You will go and you will learn how to be a good mate to a worthy alpha, and you will remain untouched and unmarked until you come of age. And when you graduate, I will find a good match for you."

Will sobs, shaking his head fiercely. "You told me no one would touch me without my permission," he says. "I'll never give permission to anyone but you."

"You'll change your mind," Hannibal insists, and hopes he's right. Hopes he isn't. He pulls away and gathers their plates, refusing to look Will's way. He takes them to the kitchen, and by the time he returns for the main serving dish, Will is gone. He sighs, and rubs his hands over his face, before he takes that away too and places it in the fridge under a cover of Clingfilm.

He knows he's making the right choice, even though it's causing such terrible pain and friction between him and his son. If she were still alive, Will's mother would have suggested the same as soon as he transitioned. It's a normal practice for omegas who have families than can afford it.

He washes the dishes on autopilot, trying his best to ignore the fierce, throbbing ache in his chest that compels him to seek Will out, to soothe and quiet him and promise him that nothing will ever come between them.

What a mess. And it's not like he can go speak to anyone about this kind of thing – legally, yes, a therapist or even a priest would not be able to prosecute him for the situation, for Hannibal hasn't acted on his desires or allowed himself to succumb to Will's, but it would only take one misplaced word, one moment of weakness, for Child Protection Services or some other organization to come knocking at his door. And there are far more secrets than just his situation with Will to consider.

He's exhausted, and so he goes to the laundry room and takes the pile of Will's bedclothes, bringing them upstairs. He will leave them at the door and go to bed, and that is what he intends to do, until he approaches Will's door, and the scent of blood greets him.

His eyes widen, and he drops the basket, rushing inside. Will is on his bed, one of Hannibal's straight razors in his hand. There's blood on his fingers, pooling down his wrists, and around the collar of his shirt, staining the material. Hannibal gasps as Will looks up, teary-eyed and snarling at him. He has cut a crude, circular set of lines into the side of his neck – shallow, he hasn't done irreparable damage to himself, but Hannibal would be a fool not to know exactly what it's meant to look like.

Will watches him, and drops a hand to between his legs, which are bare. He's taken off his pajama pants, and Hannibal watches, frozen with shock, as Will shoves three fingers between his legs, grunting and wincing in pain.

For a single moment, Hannibal can't move. He's stone-still, watching the bead of Will's blood drip down his neck. Watching as his son roughly pushes inside his own body, stretching his rim wide enough with uncoordinated, savage tugs that will cause a flush to come to the skin, redden it, and rob him of the sweet-blushing virginal pink. Will did this to himself to appear mated, mounted. No alpha would look at his neck or between his thighs and think him untouched.

Will winces again, and drops the razor. The sound of it clattering to the floor is what spurs Hannibal into motion. He rushes to Will, bends down in front of him and forcibly removes his fingers from his hole, shining and pink with slick and blood. He cups Will's neck, looking at the cuts – shallow, yes, and already clotting. The amount of blood made them look worse than they are.

"Will," he breathes, wide-eyed. He could never have predicted Will reacting like this; his fierceness and loyalty is unmatched, his dedication to doing whatever it takes physically to keep himself here rivals his mental doggedness. "Oh, Will, darling, what have you done?"

Will swallows, and Hannibal mimics him, able to feel the flex of his tender, injured neck beneath his hand. "I'm not going," he hisses, hoarse with tears. "And if you're not going to give me what I want, I'll do it myself."

Hannibal meets his eyes.

"You're mine," Will says, and grips Hannibal's neck with his bloodied hand. He squeezes, as tight as Hannibal is sure he's able, his nails digging in. "You're always going to be mine. And now…" He laughs, barks out a sharp noise, and leans back, spreading his thighs so Hannibal can see the damage he's done to himself. His rim is leaking, smeared from his bloody hand, a deep and dark red. "Did I do a good job, daddy?"

Hannibal breathes out, and can't tell if the emotion blurring his vision is more anger or pride, but he knows this; it comes as a roar, a great howl that beats at his chest like a drum, outraged and pleased and – yes. Yes, it's pride. Will ruined himself so that no one else could.

He lifts his eyes, and touches the cuts on Will's neck. "Let me clean you up," he murmurs.

Will's eyes flash, and he presses his lips together, straightening. His hand flattens on Hannibal's chest. "No," he says, and Hannibal's head tilts. "Not until you kiss me. Kiss me and when it's done tell me honestly that you don't want this, and I'll believe you."

Hannibal's fingers tremble, and flex.

"Will -."

"Do it or I'll cut deeper," Will says harshly. "You can't watch me all the time. No school will take me now." He smiles, wide and sharp, lopsided. He smiles like his mother did. "It's just you and me."

Hannibal sucks in a breath. Steels himself. He can do it – he can remain strong.

He slides his hand to the back of Will's neck, settling over his budding bonding and scent glands, and lifts him into a kiss. And immediately, he knows he's lost. The scent of Will is nothing compared to his taste, to the warm softness of his lips, to the way he sucks in a breath and arches against Hannibal's body, clawing at him desperately. Will doesn't kiss like this is his first, and maybe it isn't, but Hannibal refuses to give that any thought. Hannibal tries to keep it chaste, but loses that battle almost immediately as well, when Will licks at the seam of his lips and Hannibal parts his teeth, a low and powerful snarl rumbling in his chest when Will cups his neck, over his own bonding and scent glands, and pets over them lightly.

He touches the mating bite his mother left on Hannibal's neck, and growls, high-pitched and angry, biting at Hannibal's lower lip as Hannibal tilts his head and deepens the kiss. It ends for just a breath, but Hannibal must give him another – he must, he must. Will's entire body shivers, slick and warm, red down to his collarbones. Red on his shirt, red between his thighs, on his hands, coating his neck.

Will kisses and kisses and kisses, panting by the time Hannibal finally recovers himself and pulls him back by his hair. His eyes are wide, black, a faint flicker of burgeoning gold making them shine. His lips are bruised and red, wet from Hannibal's tongue, his hair made wild by Hannibal's fingers.

He's the most beautiful thing Hannibal has ever seen. And all his for the taking.

Will swallows, and whispers, "Do you want me?"

"Yes," Hannibal replies, for he can't deny it. Will smiles up at him, lovely and smug, and Hannibal would scold him if he wasn't so breathless. He rests their foreheads together and closes his eyes. "Your behavior has been terrible, Will."

"I know," Will murmurs. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?"

Hannibal doesn't want to smile, but he can't not. He opens his eyes, meets Will's, and kisses him again. Chaste, but lingering, and when they part Will lets out a weak little sound and reaches for him. This time, Hannibal does not pull away.

"I need to clean you up, darling," he says. "Come, let's get you into a bath."

"Okay," Will says, obedient now that he's gotten his wish. He slides to his feet and sheds his shirt, all of him pale and bare now to Hannibal's gaze. He smiles, and steps into Hannibal's embrace, nuzzling his sternum. He wraps his arms around Hannibal's hips, sighing happily, and Hannibal can do nothing but pet him in turn, drawing lines on Will's skinny shoulders, up into his hair, pleased beyond measure when he hears his son start to purr lightly.

"I love you, daddy," Will says, looking up.

Hannibal smiles. "I love you too, my dear," he replies, and kisses Will's hair. He thumbs over the cuts on Will's neck, and takes his hand, leading him towards the master bathroom. "Come with me."


	3. Chapter 3

Hannibal pauses, once he's in his bedroom. Not out of a sudden change of heart, though he's sure if he were a better man he would have felt it with every footfall, Will's dainty fingers threaded through his own as he led his son down the hallway and to his room.

He breathes in, and turns to meet Will's eyes. Will meets his gaze openly, no longer challenging or filled with tears. A bright ring of gold has begun to flicker in his iris, staining them blue and green in places, and the red on his neck makes them shine, highlights how pale he is, how small and pretty.

Hannibal unlaces their fingers and says, "We'll hold off on the bath, for a moment." Will tilts his head, pressing his lips together, his shoulders tightening and tensing up in preparation for another rejection. Hannibal doesn't believe for a second that he will ever be able to refuse Will and receive passive acceptance. Now that he has admitted he wants Will, and now that Will's taste is on his tongue, his sweet scent flooding Hannibal's lungs and head, there is nowhere for him to run to and hide. No place or position he could take that would erase what he's done.

No, Will is his, now. His beautiful, cunning boy will know no other alpha, submit to no other man. He will be wild and free and terrible, and he will be Hannibal's.

But -. "Come here."

He takes Will by the nape and pulls him to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. Will freezes, his eyes wide, and looks at Hannibal in question. "Your behavior will not go unanswered. You have been very rude and discourteous to me, and to your own body, and you will be punished for it."

He gestures to his knee.

"Lean down."

Will swallows, shifting his weight uneasily, his fingers fidgeting and kneading at his own thighs, but he obeys after another moment, submitting to the press of Hannibal's hand at his nape with a soft sigh, and drapes himself over Hannibal's lap. His toes brush the floor as he stretches out, and lets his arms drop on the far side of Hannibal's leg, gripping the cuff of his suit pants in a tight, nervous grip.

"How many cuts did you make, Will?" Hannibal says, admiring the smooth slope of Will's back, the nervous twitch of his thighs and shoulders, the way his ribs have started to stand out in stark relief as his breathing deepens, trying to remain calm. Will whines, and Hannibal shushes him, petting a hand through his hair. "Come now, darling, you must have counted."

Will swallows, and says; "Fifteen."

Hannibal nods. "And you invaded your own body with three fingers," he adds, and Will lets out another weak noise, but nods. "So, eighteen strikes in total should do it." Will drops his head, groaning in reluctant acceptance, and Hannibal can feel how tense he is, vibrating so harshly he's almost completely still.

Idly, Hannibal spreads his fingers, and drags them in a slow brush, side to side, down his spine. Will reacts immediately, just as he did that morning; he arches into the touch and gasps, his head turning to try and meet Hannibal's eyes, but Hannibal does not give him the chance; his other hand threads through Will's hair, fists tight, and holds him down.

"Is that the only time you've touched yourself, Will?" Hannibal asks. "Be honest."

Will swallows loudly. "I -. I woke up from one of my dreams and wanted to," he confesses. Hannibal hums, and gives him another soft touch, just above his tailbone. Will whimpers, and arches up onto his toes to try and get more of it. "But I didn't put anything inside me, I swear."

Hannibal knows that – only now does Will's rim bear the deep red flush of a newly penetrated omega, and he certainly didn't have that this morning. He's slick, fresh beads of semi-clear liquid gathering around his hole and just starting to drip.

"I appreciate your honesty, Will," Hannibal breathes, unable to stop himself from petting, just lightly, between Will's legs. Will whines, loudly, spreading his shaking thighs as much as he's able, clearly desperate for a touch. Hannibal twists his hand in Will's hair to remind him to be still.

"Shall we begin?"

Will tries to turn his head again, but can't from how tightly Hannibal is holding him. He lets out a soft, pathetic noise. "I'm sorry, daddy," he says plaintively, and Hannibal sighs. He has never had to raise a hand to Will, never in his life, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and Will's recent behavior has been unforgivably rash and brazen.

"I know you are, darling," he replies quietly, and widens his stance, stretching Will's torso long across his lap. He pets over Will's soft skin, and then raises his hand, letting it come down in a sharp swat over both of Will's cheeks. Will jolts, whimpering, and his fingers pull tight around Hannibal's leg. Hannibal hits him again, swallowing back a growl as Will writhes, trying to get away from the pain, his skinny body rutting uselessly against his leg and over his thighs.

By the fifth strike, Will has started crying again, his shoulders heaving with wretched little sobs, his ass colored a pale pink by Hannibal's hand. Hannibal's upper lip twitches, and he smears his thumb through Will's slick, making him shiver and moan before he strikes Will again. He goes up to ten before Will cries out, heaving and choking around his inhales, pawing at Hannibal's leg and digging in with his nails.

"Daddy, please," he whimpers, and Hannibal growls, sliding his hand from Will's hair to the nape of his neck and squeezing tightly. Will goes lax with another shuddering gasp, flinching as Hannibal hits him again, on one cheek this time, and then alternates to the second. By the time he reaches the eighteenth, Will's tears have overpowered the scent of his slick, and Will is flushed and shining with sweat, every muscle in him coiled tight and locked.

Hannibal sighs, and pets over his reddened, warm skin. "All done, darling," he murmurs, and Will collapses over his lap with another pitiful noise. Hannibal pulls him upright and holds him close, gathering Will into his arms and letting Will nose at his neck, clutching at him as he shivers and shakes. "It's over now, I promise."

He pets through Will's wild, damp hair, shushes him and strokes down his back as Will recovers his breath. When he quiets, Hannibal turns his head and makes to kiss his forehead, but Will jerks back, his watery eyes meeting Hannibal's.

He bites his lower lip, and Hannibal smiles, and cups his face, and gives him a proper kiss. It tastes like Will's tears, his sweet mouth salted with his pain, but Will moves against him, clinging to his hair and his shoulder, and gasps when Hannibal bites gently at his lower lip.

He pulls back, and smiles. "I think you deserve a reward, for taking that so well," he murmurs, and Will's eyes widen, he sucks in a shaky little breath and swallows, delicate throat flexing with the motion. "Would you like it now, or wait until we get into the bath?"

"Now," Will demands. Hannibal huffs a laugh, again reminded of Will's impatience. Perhaps he imagines Hannibal will throw him down onto the bed right now and mount him, claim him properly. Hannibal has no intention of doing so – not yet, not when he can still see blood on Will's skin.

"Very well," he concedes, and stands, easily cradling Will until he can set him on his feet. "Sit."

Will obeys, wincing when his tender skin meets the bedding, and sits on the edge of Hannibal's bed. Hannibal smiles, and leans down to cup his face, kissing his forehead, his hair, and finally his lips as Will shivers, pawing anxiously at his clothes.

Hannibal cups his nape and squeezes, just enough to encourage Will to go pliant beneath him. He kisses his son's neck, the unmarked side, and presses him back onto the bed with his free hand, until Will is splayed out like a feast, the finest offering and meal Hannibal could ever imagine. His mouth waters and his teeth feel so incredibly sharp, so he makes sure to keep them sheathed as he leans down and tongues at Will's nipple. It's small, the fresh pink of rare steak, and Will moans and arches up into the heat of his mouth as he closes his lips around it and sucks.

Hannibal smiles, dragging his tongue feather-light over Will's nipple, purring inwardly as Will whimpers and shakes beneath him, helplessly grabbing at his shoulders and hair. He's wonderfully responsive, his cheeks flushed and little cock red and leaking against his stomach. Hannibal moves his hand from Will's chest, still keeping his tender grip on Will's nape so he remains still, and drags his fingers down, letting his nails catch, until he reaches Will's cock.

He doesn't touch it, merely teases the air around it with a promise of heat and pressure, and Will whines, lifting his heels to clutch at Hannibal's thighs. "Daddy," he gasps, and opens his eyes wide, lifting his head to meet Hannibal's gaze. "Please, _please_."

Will's slick-scent is blooming new, now, so sweet and thick on Hannibal's tongue. He releases Will's nipple and goes to the other one, sucking on it just as he had before, though a little harder, curious how Will might react. He doesn't disappoint – he arches and lets out a chorus of desperate little sounds, eagerly lifting his flat chest into Hannibal's mouth.

In reward, Hannibal curls his fingers around Will's cock and begins to stroke, and it only takes a minute of touch before Will shudders, his lips parted to show his teeth, and throws his head back with a ragged cry. His cock twitches and a thin, single line of release comes from it. Hannibal continues to touch him, using the new wetness to stroke his sensitive cock until Will starts to sob, hiccupping sweet cries into the open air.

And oh, _God_, Will is _gushing_ slick now, his rim open and lax enough in preparation for an alpha to pierce him, despite his youth and despite the fact that he cannot possibly breed. There's a huge dark stain of slick on the bedding beneath him and when Hannibal pulls back, he sees more pour out of Will like an open wound. It reminds him of how wet and open his mother would get when she was in heat, such a sweet and trembling thing, so easy to pin down and mount until Hannibal was satisfied.

His mouth floods with saliva, and he wants to taste it. He snarls, when Will drags his nails along his own thighs, fingers brushing his hole, seeking the fullness Hannibal didn't give him.

He grabs Will's wrists, both of them able to fit in one hand, and jerks Will upright so their eyes can meet. "You belong to an alpha now, Will," he says sternly. "A good omega takes only what they're given."

Will blinks up at him, his eyes wide, before they darken, and Hannibal is given a flash of that same wild creature that snarled at him and called Hannibal his. "I don't belong to anyone," he says, and it would sound childish and snappy except for how assured he sounds. He gestures to his own neck and refuses to look away. "Not yet."

Hannibal can tell his smile is not quite kind. It holds too much teeth, and he relishes the little tremor that runs down Will when he sees it. "You will obey me as my son, if you ever want to get the chance to obey me as my mate," he says, and Will winces, nodding, and lets out a breathy little whine. He lets Hannibal pull him from the bed and plasters himself to Hannibal's side, and once his hands are freed, he wraps his arms around Hannibal's hips and nuzzles his sternum.

Hannibal cannot help gentling, at how openly and sweetly Will loves him. He pets through Will's soft hair and leans down to kiss him, before he takes Will's hand again and leads him to the bathroom. It is a spacious room, the bathtub large enough to accommodate a fully-grown mated pair, and so more than enough room for Will. He crouches down and starts the water from the faucet, until it grows warm enough, and then plugs the tub and lets it fill.

Will shivers in the middle of the room, wrapping his arms around himself, and he bites his lower lip and meets Hannibal's eyes. "Will you take a bath with me?" he asks, soft and so young sounding, like he's asking Hannibal to check under the bed for monsters or asking him for his favorite dessert. And Hannibal cannot be sure, now, how much of it is an act and how much of it is genuine, but it delights him to even think Will _could _manipulate him. It's a novel feeling.

He smiles, and nods, and Will stands, unmoving, watching him intently. Hannibal lifts his brows. "Would you like me to undress here?"

Will mimics him, lifts his chin, nostrils flaring. "Yes," he says. "Seems only fair."

"I fear your beating only made you more rambunctious," Hannibal muses, though he can't honestly say he's upset by that. He does not want a weak, submissive boy for a mate – Will's mother, refined and beautiful though she was, had no fire to her, nothing that told Hannibal he could be rough, could be uncivil, could be monstrous. Will must have inherited more of his nature than his biology and sweetness implied, for Will's eyes meet his in challenge, his jaw clenched. Ready to fight, though the odds are far from in his favor.

Hannibal smiles at him, and starts with his shoes and socks, taking them off and tucking them into the beginnings of a neat pile next to the cabinet beneath the sink. Then, his belt, which he unhooks and slides out of place with a slithering noise that makes Will's breath catch, his eyes growing dark. He takes off his suit jacket, next, folding it and placing it beside the sink, before he unbuttons the suit vest, and adds it to the pile.

Will's breathing is growing heavy, his weight shifting restlessly as his slick coats and shines on his thighs and calves. In such an enclosed space, his scent is overpowering all else, and Hannibal breathes it in greedily, a low rumble stuck in his chest, his eyes heating and showing red as he takes Will's scent into his lungs.

He unbuttons the white button-down shirt, and pauses when Will steps forward. "Let me," he murmurs, and undoes the last button himself, lifting to his toes so he can push the shirt off Hannibal's shoulders. He folds it and sets it to one side without looking, his eyes wide and near black now as he rakes Hannibal up and down.

He reaches, fingers curling, and flattens his small hand over Hannibal's pelt, sucks in a breath and purrs weakly at how warm and thick the hair on his chest is. He pets over it and looks up at Hannibal with wide eyes.

Hannibal smiles, and cups his face, leaning down to kiss him. "Turn off the water and get in the bath, darling," he says, and Will goes with an obedient nod, his motions slower than before, likely drunk himself on the pheromones Hannibal is producing. Hannibal sheds his suit pants and underwear, turning when he hears the soft splash of Will getting into the tub. He is dwarfed by the basin, hissing and flushing from the heat.

Then, he looks up, and gasps. His eyes go black, his lips part, and he looks at Hannibal like a fresh-cooked meal. His eyes linger on Hannibal's cock, which is half-hard just from the scent of his beloved boy, and he swallows loudly.

Hannibal goes to him and Will rises to his knees, grabbing at his hips as Hannibal climbs into the bath behind him, and settles with a sigh. The water is just on the right side of too hot, and Will turns, wriggling into place against his chest, and Hannibal hasn't bathed or held him like this since Will was very young. It feels nice, and comforting, when Will nuzzles his neck and parts his thighs to spread them wide across Hannibal's lap.

Will sits up, petting down Hannibal's chest, and Hannibal settles back, lifting his arms to the rim of the tub, content to let Will explore. Predictably, Will's hands soon drag down below the water, touching his stomach, and then the mesh of curling pubic hair surrounding the base of his cock. He wraps a hand around it, so small his fingers cannot connect, and sucks in an unsteady breath when Hannibal growls, and begins to harden fully in his grip.

"You're so big," he whispers, soft with awe. Hannibal's lips twitch in a smile, lashes dipping low as Will gives his cock a tentative stroke, whimpering when he fills further. "I -. I don't know if it'll fit," he says, sounding guilty.

Hannibal opens his eyes, shushing him, and takes Will by the nape, pulling him into a kiss. "Don't worry about that," he murmurs, and drags Will closer to him, the water splashing as their bodies displace it, and Hannibal can rut his cock between Will's slim, slick thighs. He pets down his back and slides two fingers over Will's rim, growling when he finds the muscle soft and pliant, just aching to be filled. "We'll go slowly."

Will nods, biting his lower lip. Hannibal guides him to his own neck, letting Will take a deep breath in of his calming scent, and smiles when Will goes lax. He purrs for his boy, and grips his nape tightly to ensure he stays still and lax, and curls a finger against Will's rim, stroking over it until Will shudders, and releases the lingering tension in his spine. When Will breathes out, soft and meek, Hannibal pushes in with one finger.

Will sighs, and doesn't seem to be in any discomfort; he rocks his hips lazily, dragging his cock against Hannibal's belly as Hannibal penetrates him. He's tight, and hotter than the water on the inside, burning and empty. Hannibal cups his hand in the water and smears it over Will's neck, rinsing him of blood as Will starts panting, gripping Hannibal's cock with both hands and stroking with small, uncoordinated movements.

"Think about your dreams," Hannibal purrs to him. "Think of how empty you felt. How much you liked it when I touched you."

"I do like it," Will gasps, shivering around Hannibal's finger. "I like it a lot."

His muscles spasm around Hannibal, gripping him tightly, and Hannibal smiles, and pushes in with a second finger. Will whimpers, clenching his eyes tightly shut, shoving his nose against Hannibal's collarbone. He's so small, and lighter than air in the water, rutting frantically between Hannibal's body and his hand.

"Daddy, _please_," he whines, and stares at Hannibal with a helpless, desperate look. His little cock ruts against Hannibal's, so small in comparison, but just as red. He wraps one hand around his own cock and strokes himself quickly, and groans when Hannibal pushes his fingers in deep and turns them, until he finds the little nub of Will's prostate and pets over it with a firm touch. Will gasps, blinking rapidly, and Hannibal feels how his trembling body opens, more slick leaking out, thicker than the water, staining Hannibal's hand.

He forces another finger in, a perverse part of him relishing how Will's face tightens with pain, how his jaw clenches and he stares at Hannibal with wide eyes. Will ruts mindlessly against his hand, soaked and trembling, and Hannibal watches, breathing hard, as Will tightens up and comes again, staining the water with his little dribble of release. He pets over Will's prostate as he jerks and writhes in the water, gasping and planting both hands on Hannibal's chest as he rides it out, past pleasure, into overstimulation, into pain.

Will leans forward and kisses him, hardly able to form a seal with how hard he's breathing, and begs; "More. I want more."

His greedy little boy. Hannibal could not adore him any more than he does in this moment.

And yet; "I genuinely don't know if you'll be able to fit much more, darling," he murmurs, kissing Will's flushed cheek, his parted jaw. Will growls at him, as loud and threatening a sound as he's able to make for one so young, and bites down sharply on Hannibal's collarbone. It's hardly worse than a nip, when all's said and done, and doesn't break skin, barely welts, but the sudden jolt of pain freezes Hannibal's in place. Every instinct in him snarls, howls to take, to cover and devour and see if Will is still so in love with him after.

One of his hands flies up, and tightens around the back of Will's neck in warning. "Careful," he says, as calmly as he can manage.

Will swallows, licks over the little mark he left in apology, and kisses his way sweetly up Hannibal's neck, until their cheeks rub together, until he can cup Hannibal's face and kiss him softly. Hannibal's fingers curl inside him and Will whimpers.

"Please, daddy," he says, breathless and shaking all over again. "I want to try." He sucks in a breath, lashes fluttering as Hannibal gently pets over his prostate, watches his shoulders tense and roll, his stomach sink in, his thighs tighten and pull together as his little body clenches up tightly around Hannibal's fingers.

His eyes flash, and open wide, and Hannibal knows that, whatever he's about to say, he knows exactly what he's doing when he says it.

Will licks his lips, and presses a hand low on his smooth belly, and murmurs; "I'm so empty, daddy. It hurts. Help me."

Oh, Will. His cunning, manipulative, beloved boy. Hannibal's growl is almost entirely involuntary, and he reaches with his toe for the chain to the plug, pulling it free so the bath can drain. He pulls his fingers out of Will and rises, easily cradling Will in his arms as he steps out of the bath and carries him to the bedroom. He throws Will down and rolls him onto his belly, climbing on behind him and uncaring for how they wet the bed with their dripping bodies.

He leans down, and noses at Will's temple. "Elbows and knees, darling. Spread them as wide as you can."

Will obeys with a weak whimper, pushing himself into position, and Hannibal rears back, snarling at the sight of Will's pink flesh, marked by his handprints, his body spread open, hole red and wet, thighs trembling. He makes quite a sight; the most decadent work of art Hannibal has ever seen.

He prowls over Will and marvels how Will is so small; he can cover him easily. Will's hair barely touches his collarbone, and he's so thin he's half Hannibal's girth, slots nicely between his arms and his thighs as Hannibal cages him in.

Hannibal puts a hand in his hair and keeps him down, licks and bites over the cuts Will gave himself, and Will trembles, soaked with slick, his fists clenched tightly enough his knuckles go white.

It's a natural instinct for Hannibal to rut, to find the first slick hole he can and fill it. He rolls his hips, his hard cock sinking between Will's thighs before he pulls back, and up, and his cockhead touches Will's rim. Will howls for him, clawing at the bedspread, little moans of 'Please' and 'Daddy' and 'Mount me' punched from his chest.

Hannibal shivers, closing his eyes. There's no going back, once he does this. Once he ruins Will from the inside, the urge to further mar him with teeth will be irresistible. Will is his – Will has always been his. From the moment his mother told Hannibal she was pregnant, Will has been for him alone.

He releases Will's hair so he doesn't crush him, and flattens his elbow on the bed around Will's, relying on his skinny shoulders and bowstring-tight body to keep him upright. His other hand finds Will's heart, feels it racing, and slides down, because he needs to feel the emptiness in his son. He needs to feel the second he fills it. His fingers part, two on each side of Will's little cock, and he holds him still by the pubic bone, grits his teeth, and forces the head of his cock inside of his boy.

Will is hot, and soaking wet, and so tight around him that it's an honest struggle to push himself in any deeper. Hannibal snarls, loudly, trembling and sweaty as he grips Will tightly, hand on the bed wrapping around Will's wrists and shoving his hands up, stretching him lax and long. He bows his head, back hunching like a beast so he can reach Will's neck, and he licks over the bruising edges of Will's cuts, snarling again as Will moans and trembles beneath him. His body clenches up, feverishly trying to keep Hannibal out.

Hannibal huffs, but isn't surprised – Will is very small, and his body doesn't have the instincts or hormones of heat to help him accept an alpha just yet. He will grow into both – one day he will take Hannibal with no problem, and be so slick and open for him that he can be mounted with very little preparation. Hannibal can be patient for that day, and he would be lying to say he doesn't relish just _how _difficult it is to mount Will. It makes the victory more hard-earned, more well-deserved.

He kisses Will's hair and moves just enough that he can put his knees on the outside of Will's, using his grip on Will's belly to lift him a little higher, into a sharper downward curve. The instant he does, and Will's hips are not angled so sharply, he manages to sink in another inch. Even with as wet as Will is, as open as he's trying to be, it's a fight to push any further.

Hannibal holds him still, pulls out, and Will gasps, lifting his head. Hannibal can smell his tears, his pain, and he tilts his head so Will can mouth at his jaw and neck, the only places he can reach.

"Don't stop," he begs, his fingers flexing where Hannibal is keeping them pinned above their heads. "Daddy, please, I can take it. I _want _to."

"I know, darling," Hannibal murmurs, and nuzzles him, his fingers closing around Will's cock as he starts to harden again. Will is blessed with both omega recovery time, and that of young boys – Hannibal is sure he will achieve orgasm multiple times for every knot Hannibal can give him.

The thought makes him freeze, just for a moment. God, if Hannibal can't even get a few _inches _into his son, there's no way he'll be able to fit his knot. Not until Will is much older, maybe not even until he goes into heat. He shivers at the thought, snarls lowly, and feels Will tense up beneath him.

"Daddy?" he whispers, sounding unsure, undoubtedly able to smell the outraged spice in Hannibal's scent.

Hannibal gentles himself immediately, nudges Will's neck to one side and bows over him so he can kiss his throat. "It's alright, Will," he says gently. The more he touches Will, the closer they become and the older Will gets, the more sensitive he will be to Hannibal's moods, frantic with the desire to soothe his melancholy, earn his happiness, sate his rage and lust with his body.

Will whimpers, and fights to free his hands. Hannibal allows it, curls his arm above Will's head as Will reaches back, beneath his belly and between his thighs, slipping his fingers through the thick coating of slick staining his skin. Then, he takes Hannibal's dripping cock in hand and smears his slick all the way down. Hannibal growls, parts his teeth and settles them on the arch of Will's ear, and closes his eyes as Will awkwardly twists himself, grunting in effort, and guides Hannibal back to his hole.

"Try now," he says, and Hannibal would laugh if Will hadn't chosen, in that exact moment, to push back. His stomach tenses under Hannibal's hand, his shoulders lift and his back ruts feverishly against Hannibal's chest. His body splits wide around Hannibal's cock, just as tight and hot but now he's not wetting as he goes, now he's slick down to the root, and it's easier, this time, to persuade Will's body to part for him.

Still, he cannot go deeper than a few inches before he feels his cockhead butt up against the hard, closed entrance of Will's cervix. The soft tissue that will, when he's old enough, open for an alpha – no, not just any alpha, _Hannibal_ – to plant his seed. He will have to take some measures to ensure Will is not fertile by the time his heat comes, but birth control is easy enough to get.

He pauses, gritting his teeth, fighting the urge to simply shove his way through Will's cervical opening and deep into him. It will be incredibly painful, if it's even possible, and though he wants to try he would never damage or injure his beloved boy if he can help it.

Will shivers, lifts his head, weak-necked and delirious, teetering just on the edge, Hannibal senses, of another orgasm. His little cock is hard between Hannibal's fingers and Hannibal idly strokes him, arching his fingers and flattening them like he's testing proper hand posture at a piano. Will moans loudly, high-pitched and gasping, and he shrieks when he comes, biting down on the bedspread and shoving back violently, desperately seeking more fullness as he spills over Hannibal's hand.

The action forces Hannibal's cockhead against his cervix and Hannibal snarls, _heavily_, when he feels it part for him, so tight it's like trying to force himself through a clenched fist. The sound Will makes is sharp with pain, he jerks and spasms, panting, but his reaction is not to scramble away and potentially make it worse, but to go utterly still and let out a helpless little whine.

Hannibal releases his soft, wet cock, pets up his flanks and gently smooths his fingers over Will's bonding and scent glands, which he knows will soothe Will, and cups his face so Will can breathe in at his neck. "You're alright," he murmurs, and Will cries and jerks again, every muscle in him clamping up viciously around Hannibal's cock, the halves of his cervix crushing so tight that it's uncomfortable for Hannibal as well. He settles his hands on Will's hips and nuzzles his nape. "Stay still, darling. It's okay, daddy's got you."

Will whimpers, collapsing with a weak groan as Hannibal carefully, teeth gritted, eases himself away from Will's cervix. It closes behind him like a dog snapping its jaws together, and Will's body trembles with relief, utterly lax. Though it's certainly not the means Hannibal would have used, the sheer relief from the removal of pain makes him looser, laxer, and Hannibal is able to carefully negotiate him to arch his back up, so that Hannibal can avoid his cervix entirely, and push deeper into his body instead.

Will gasps, throws his head back and collides with Hannibal's chest with a solid, wet sound. He scrambles at the bed as Hannibal works himself in deeper, heaving and moaning wildly. He reaches up and cradles Hannibal's nape, digging in with his nails, and Hannibal snarls and, with a final, punch-like thrust, his hips connect with Will's pink-marked ass, and he goes still with a grunt.

"Oh, oh _God_," Will breathes, pawing at his own belly. Hannibal slides a hand down him, curious, and shudders when he feels a telltale bulge that is his own cock inside Will. He gives a little experimental roll of his hips, feels it move inside his son, and thinks with no small amount of pleasure that, no, he can never give Will children, but he can fill him just the same. "Oh my God, daddy, _fuck_, you're so big, _shit_ -."

"Language, Will," Hannibal says, though it's more amused than scolding. Will swallows, breathing out heavily, and reaches down to touch his cock, groaning every time his knuckles connect with his distended belly.

Hannibal sighs, content for a moment to simply enjoy how tight and warm Will is around him. Will smells incredible – his natural sweetness is certainly there, but now he's been thoroughly drenched in Hannibal's scent, a complimentary smoky whiskey with his sweet meat. When he rolls his hips again, trying to pull out and manages a small thrust, Will moves with him, clamping down so tightly Hannibal can't pull away without concentrated effort to keep him still. They're locked together and Hannibal hasn't even knotted him yet.

"Daddy, _daddy_, oh God oh _God_." Will clenches around him again, spilling over his fingers with a wretched little gasp. The scent of his orgasm is maddening, and Hannibal takes his hand and lifts it, licking his fingers clean. Will hooks him by the lower jaw and stretches as best he can, claiming Hannibal's mouth in a kiss. One of his hands is holding him up, the other touching Hannibal's jaw, so Hannibal plants his own hands on either side of Will's body, widens his stance so that Will can spread with him and brace himself, and pulls back just a little, pushing in slowly but apparently harsh enough that Will's breath is punched from his lungs in a loud gasp.

He is careful not to withdraw too far, lest he accidentally test the entrance to Will's cervix again, but Will certainly doesn't seem to mind the lack of variation and depth. He wouldn't know any different, of course. Hannibal rears up, spreading Will's ass wide so he can see how stretched and red he is, Hannibal so thoroughly plugged inside him that his slick can't even leak out, and Will groans, flattening his chest to the bed and shoving so hard at his own belly that Hannibal can feel it inside him.

He rubs his thumb over Will's rim, his other hand flattening over his tailbone to help him curve into a more comfortable angle, and Will screams raggedly as he comes again, his hole fluttering and then squeezing Hannibal so tight. God, once Will is big enough to knot, Hannibal doesn't doubt that he'll be able to stay locked inside Will for hours, using his tight body and clenching muscles to keep him inflated while he pumps his boy full of come.

"_Daddy_," Will sobs, and he's crying, overstimulated and raw, but not in pain. No, his scent is almost deliriously saccharine with pleasure, and Hannibal snarls, clenching his jaw. He wants to savor this. He wants to _knot_. He's unable to do either and helpless to resist.

He lunges over Will and shoves him flat to the bed, the last remnants of his self-control shattering as Will pants and moans underneath him, entire body jerking as Hannibal fucks him as gently as he's able, but there's a certain mercilessness to it too, a selfish drive compelling him to fuck deep and hard. He pulls Will's head to one side, and Will is too small to bite and fuck at the same time, but Will knows what the action is meant for and cries out for it.

"Daddy, _yes_," he whimpers. "_Fuck_, you feel so good. It's so good, _thank you_." He quivers and comes again, dry now, Hannibal is sure, and Hannibal presses deep, snarling when he feels his knot trying to swell, to lock, but he can't force it past Will's tight rim. He bites the bedspread and forces himself not to try. "You feel so good, I love you so much, daddy, _please_."

"Oh, Will," he gasps, petting through Will's sweaty hair, cradling him tight in his arms. He does his best not to smother Will, but it's a close thing, and Will is breathing so heavily he's close to hyperventilating. "My sweet, beloved boy." Will tightens around him, merciless in his own way, and Hannibal goes still, breathes out heavily. "Stay still, darling. Stay very still."

Will obeys with a helpless little moan, and Hannibal closes his eyes, curls himself up tight over Will, and comes without knotting. Still, after so long without a bedmate, the amount of seed he has to give is large, and he feels himself flooding Will, pooling behind his belly, dripping down his insides and undoubtedly flooding his bruised-open cervix. The thought of Will getting pregnant satisfies a primal desire in him to sire a legacy, and Will moans weakly, reaches up and clutches at Hannibal's hair as Hannibal shudders, hips rutting in aborted little rabbit thrusts, and finishes with another low snarl.

He holds Will through the aftershocks, and Will whimpers, lifting his hips, instinct telling him to lower his uterus and let Hannibal's seed take root inside him. Hannibal sighs, and takes Will's hand, kissing his knuckles, before he pushes himself upright and flattens his hands on Will's hips to hold him still.

"No!" Will cries, lifting his head and turning to try and meet Hannibal's eyes. His irises are only gold, no blue left to them at all, his cheeks red and flushed, his back pink from the abrasion of Hannibal's chest hair, his curls black with sweat. "Stay inside me. _Please_."

Hannibal smiles, and gives his sweet boy one last little thrust, before he shakes his head. "You're too small for me to reach your neck, darling," he says quietly. Will's eyes flash, and he swallows. "If we're going to do this properly, I need to be able to bite you."

Will is clearly not happy about it, but he nods in concession, and Hannibal grits his teeth, blowing out a heavy breath as he pulls out. His come and Will's slick follows him like a pierced vein, gushing thickly down his thighs. The scent is overwhelming, primally satisfying, and Hannibal smiles and gathers Will in his arms, turning him and sitting down so Will can drape across his lap.

Will smiles brightly, and wraps his arms around Hannibal's shoulders. "Can I bite you first?" he asks.

Hannibal blinks at him. Traditionally, the alpha lays his mark first, allowing the omega the chance to refuse a mating bite in return, in accordance with the law. Will asking that only further proves how sure he is, how much he wants this. Hannibal looks at him and sees nothing but love, wide-eyed devotion.

He smiles, and tilts his head to bare his throat.

Will's teeth are small, his jaw weak, but he manages to find Hannibal's pulse and sink his teeth in, kneading his jaws until the skin splits. Right over the mark his mother left all those years ago. Hannibal knows Will chose that spot on purpose.

He growls, and when Will is done, blood in his mouth, he wraps a hand in Will's hair and tilts his head, finds the marks he left with Hannibal's razor, and covers them with his own teeth. It will leave an ugly, mismatched scar in his neck, not at all neat, or clean, and isn't that just a fitting metaphor for them both? They are monsters, dark beasts of desire and conquest, and Hannibal swallows his mouthful and bites down hard enough to ensure Will's neck will bear the scar of his bite for the rest of his life.

To his surprise, and utter delight, Will shivers and gives a weak little moan, rutting his cock against Hannibal's belly until he comes again, just from the bite and friction. He gathers his come on his fingers and smears them along Hannibal's neck, scent-marking him as omegas are prone to do.

Hannibal pulls back, and meets his eyes, seeing Will positively glowing with satisfaction. He pets over his own neck, sighing, lashes going low as he feels the raised marks of Hannibal's teeth. He smiles, and leans in to claim Hannibal's mouth, kisses him long and passionate, and wraps his fingers in Hannibal's hair.

"You're mine," he murmurs, and Hannibal cannot help but agree. Will smiles again. "I love you, daddy."

"And I love you, my sweet, brilliant boy," Hannibal replies. He pulls Will close to him and rolls them so Will is gently crushed under his weight, and pulls the soiled bedspread over them both. Will burrows into his chest with another happy purr, nosing at Hannibal's neck.

"I want you inside me every single day," Will says, sounding sleepy and young and so adorably sweet. "Maybe you'll be able to knot me sooner the more we try."

Hannibal laughs, and kisses his hair. "I'm sure of it," he purrs, and Will wriggles again, another happy sound falling from him. Hannibal could go the rest of his life hearing Will make that sound, and know it was a life well-lived. He kisses Will's forehead, and his soft mouth, and Will answers him in kind, petting down his chest and then settling with a sated sigh. "Sleep, darling," he murmurs.

Will stifles a yawn, and lets his eyes fall closed, going utterly lax and trusting in Hannibal's arms. It's the first time in a long time Hannibal has felt so content, and he falls asleep soon after, with Will's sweet scent in his lungs and his purr thrumming happily against Hannibal's hand on his back.


End file.
